Here's my snippet for prompt 1! Didn't include much of the scenario but this is him in the process of recruiting for the gang.

In a shitty studio apartment-turned-workshop, a metallic, flesh-painted finger waves inches from your face. He sits on the couch marred by countless cigarette burns, you stand facing him from across the coffee table. Behind you is a large, intimidating man eyeing the lounger with an expression hard to read. Visible was the rust creeping out from under the plates covering the finger's squeaky joints as the one on the couch continues to blabber on.

"-- You're kidding! Gotta be fucking kidding -- no way in hell. I don't fuck with none of that shit choom. I'm straight and last time I checked, you don't have the dough to buy me out anyhow."

Swarthy and tall, with hands not of the rough and gnarled variety typical of a seasoned workman, but rather the bandaged and scarred palms of a novice. But the work you saw displayed along the arms of his friend was enough to convince you otherwise.

Himo could be described as the typical "hired muscle," though "hired metal" might be more apt. The heavy-set Easterner currently breathing down your neck caught your eye on account of his biceps and forearms: larger than any you've seen before. Of course, what he hid under his sleeves was far more than mere muscle.

A system of vacuum and heating chambers integrated into his arms and respiratory system. Taking in air through new holes for what essentially functioned as a second set of lungs, and directing the resulting carbon dioxide into the heated tanks, these things meant that every punch was a pressurized blast of heat and chrome straight out of hell.

That was the only reason why you were putting up with this kid's mouth. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew that going to the source would beat recruiting whatever meatsack you found on the street with his work attached. Contrary to the saying, violence was often the answer in this line of work, and what better asset to have than a custom, on-demand way to enact it?

"Look pal, I'm not opposed to striking some kind of deal or arrangement here. But if you're going to work with us, then you need to roll with u--"

"Now who the fuck said I'd be working with you, or 'rolling with you'? You is of no use to me. My services are preem, and everybody's gunning for a spot. Who's to say I won't just fix up a few more muscle-men like my boy Himo here, and start my own crew? Huh?"

The lenses in his eyes zoomed in on your face, orange glow showing through the center hole. He was smirking. Cocky son of a bitch. That blood vessel in your temple probably would've been showing if you hadn't replaced most of your head with metal enhancements. Still, your patience was running thin.

You got real close, and your voice got real low.

"What you don't seem to consider is what happens when you and your posse of metalheads run into a problem you can't just punch in the fucking face."

"I'm the one who fixes all that. That's my 'use to you' Mister Hotshot Ripper. When the pigs come knocking, you can blast them all you want but the moment someone hooks a little bug to your car or calls up MaxTac when your merry little band of bandits start getting too comfortable busting heads, you're gone."

Your finger digs deep beneath his heavy jacket, layers of clothes hiding his bare, vulnerable body. You could probably feel the indentations of his ribs if if weren't for all the loose fabric in the way. You poke his chest, hard. Himo's gaze was burning a hole through the back of your head, but it didn't matter. This was about showing who was boss. Setting the tone.

The kid's own tone changed too. Smirk nowhere to be found, a brow was raised in what looked like guarded curiosity. Guarding what?

"I see."

Those beady orange lights shifted to the floor, titanium bearings within his sockets noisy shifting to accommodate the change in vision and rotation of the eyeballs. His breathing slowed. He said nothing for a moment, but just as his head began to rise, you were already halfway out the door, Himo following suit.

"Just fucking call me if you're interested. You aren't the only person I'm meeting with today, just in case you thought you were special. My time is worth more than an ignorant little brat in a glass house. Don't expect a welcome party if we decide to take your ass."